Wassup cuz?

The fun times just keep on rollin' at the farm. Yesterday afternoon, my Aunt Sandy, Uncle Scott and cousins Erica, Angie and their families came down to catch-up and squeeze my daughter's cheeks.

I was anxious to see how well Taylor would play with her extended cousins, as she did not have any sort of afternoon nap. Nadda. Which usually puts her mood somewhere between Psycho and Demon Baby. And after fighting little Ava over every single toy that she picked up, we took the kiddos outside, where the sunshine greatly increased her mood. And her cuteness.

My friend Steph

My high school graduating class had 41 students in it. And, hands down, my favoritest classmate from the GHHS class of 1996 was Steph. Her family moved to Holstein when we were in grade school, and we became fast friends. Which was unfortunate for each of our parents as we lived on the opposite sides of the school district. Meaning that any sleepover or playdate was followed with an hour drive to take someone home, with a half hour of that ride spent trying to calm two friends laughing manically in the backseat of the car. I'm talking full-on cheek-cramping, pee-your-pants, belly-laughs. We thought we were the funniest two people alive.

And after high school, I enrolled at Iowa and she at Iowa State. And then her parents moved away from the area, meaning that Steph spent holidays somewhere else. And in the whirlwind of college, we somehow lost touch. Sure, we got to see each other at the random classmate wedding, and we'd catch-up in the few hours we saw one another, but then we'd return to our respective towns and fall out of touch again. Tragic.

But then, through the magic of the Internet, mostly this blog, we were able to reconnect. And able to learn about each other's kids and husbands and towns and extended families, all without spending hours and hours on the phone. Because, seriously, who can spend hours on the phone anymore? I'm lucky to get 15 minutes to concentrate on a conversation, and that's only when Sesame Street or Yo Gabba Gabba is on.

And when I announced that I was coming back to the farm this week, Steph managed to rearrange her schedule and make a quick trip up from Kansas City with her kiddos. And I can't even explain how excited I was to see my old friend. And when she, Brady and Elly arrived at the farm yesterday morning, it was like we hadn't skipped a beat. Which meant that within five seconds of us reuniting, each of us had giant smiles plastered on our faces and were belly-laughing so hard we scared our own children.

And it was so wonderful to meet her kiddos. They are so sweet and have so much personality. Living proof that Steph is an awesome mom.

And to see our children together was absolutely precious.

And after lots of catching-up, lunch and some serious playtime, Steph took Brady and Elly back to Sioux City. And then, later into the day, the two of us met back up in Holstein, sans children, and we drove around our old stomping grounds, knocking on a few doors, meeting up with some more old friends, and laughing, LAUGHING, L-A-U-G-H-I-N-G until we each had tears in our eyes and some seriously sore cheeks. Thanks, Steph, for making the drive up to see me. You made my heart smile bigger than my face.

Back at the farm

Well, bloggers, WE MADE IT. Alive. With my sanity still in tact. Both flights went off without a hitch, and T was, dare I say it, a perfect angel on the plane. I didn't even have to get out the emergency brand-new baby doll in my carry-on until the last half-hour of the two-hour ride from the airport to the farm. Maybe she's born to jet-set afterall. Or maybe she's going to be equally as bad on the trip home. Either way - WE'RE HERE!

And the farm looks absolutely AMAZING! I haven't been back to Iowa in the non-winter months for a long time, and there is nothing prettier than green rolling fields and bright blue skies. NOTHING. This morning was spent introducing T to the farm, and after a few timid moments, she started running around, touching and pointing at all the new, fun things that are going to occupy our attention for the next week.

And then, of course, Taylor's Ya-Ya fed her enough sugar to last the week too. What is it with grandmothers stuffing their grandkids full of sinfully sweet treats? Is it an oath they take when their first born becomes pregnant? Thou must shove as much sugar in thou grandchildren's mouths as possible.

This is going to be a fun week.

Fingers crossed

Alright, the suitcase is packed and my carry-on is stuffed full of toys, books, diapers and lots and lots of treats in the shapes of Sesame Street characters. I wonder if when Taylor woke up this morning, she knew that today would be the day that she has the option to eat her weights worth of cookies and fruit strips. Like church only five-time longer in duration. It might be the best day of her life.

I’m ready for this plane ride. I am going to OWN this plane ride today. I’ve been in training for the past month. No, really. I’ve been TRAINING for this. Extra push-ups and squats at the gym, because I’m about to lug a hefty-sized toddler and an equal amount of treats across the country.

And I predict that at the end of the day, the hardest thing we will have gone through is having to say goodbye to Chris for a week. Because that’s gonna be really tough - I haven’t been away from my man for that long in ages, and he’s never been away from his baby girl for more than two days.

But other than some sore shoulders, missing my husband and Taylor having a tummy-ache, I predict this trip home to the farm will be AMAZING. I am so excited to show off my little T to all who will see her, and I can’t wait to spend time with my family and hometown comrades. It’s gonna be a party.

The magical fruit

We have a new obsession in the Amys house. It’s called Papas & Beer, a locally owned Cali-Mex restaurant that recently opened a new place about five minutes from our front door. And apparently we’re not the only people that have this affliction, as there is a mandatory 20-minute wait every time we go. Which says a lot in a food-snob environment such as Asheville. It’s THAT good.

And I have to be honest that the number-one fan of the cuisine in our family is baby T. On our first visit, when the waiter brought over our chips and bean dip, Taylor immediately plunged her tortilla chip in to the dip, sucked it off and went back for more. It was love at first sight. And then she spooned-down her entire serving of refried beans, leaving most of her rice and entire quesadilla untouched. We were left speechless. As was the waiter and several other diners surrounding us. We had never seen anyone so excited about beans before. And then Chris and I had to do paper-rock-scissors to determine who was on diaper duty the next morning.

And the bean-love wasn’t a one time thing, as now every time we go there we have to prepare everyone in a five-foot radius that they’re about to see something spectacular. Step right up and see how fast this kid can eat beans. Prepare to be amazed.

Birthday Love

Yesterday morning we attended our second birthday party for the week, this time with Chris joining the fun. My old Kimmel-colleague and good friend, Meredith Love, and her husband, John, threw their son, Quinn, a killer third-birthday bash, complete with face painting, mini-disc golf and lots and lots of toddler toys.

And other than a few itty-bitty babies, Taylor was one of the younger kiddos there. And it was fun watching her interact with all of these new friends, especially the BOYS. The hyperactive little guys that wouldn’t hesitate to pull away her hula-hoop or wiffle ball or whatever else she was attached to for that five seconds. And only once did she stick out her bottom lip, tear up and scream, Hey, Buddy! I WAS TOUCHING THAT! And that’s when I gave her a juice box, and the world became a better place. Because who needs to touch a red wagon when you can have apple-carrot juice with a straw and Big Bird on the box?

There was one precious little girl there, Ella, who was about a year older than T, and the two of them became fast friends. They shared rides on the swing and trips down the slide. They ate lunch next to each other, and our new friend even let Taylor sneak a few grapes off her plate. Because, Hey, that’s what friends do. They share. And all was good until Taylor swiped Ella’s half-eaten cupcake right off her plate and shoved the ENTIRE morsel in her mouth. My girl couldn’t even breath she had so much cake in her mouth. And then Ella was all, What? Grapes are one thing, but FROSTING. Friends don’t share frosting. Thus the tragic end of that alliance.

Needless to say, it was about a million times more action than Taylor usually sees on Saturday mornings. And with her goody-bag clutched to her chest, my party animal was passed out before we got out of the driveway.

One a days

Taylor has always been a good napper. She has to be. She’s MY DAUGHTER. And I come from a long line of habitual afternoon snoozers. If you’re around my family and extended Graffeo family in the hours after lunch, don’t be offended if everyone retreats to their own spaces and becomes unconscious for an hour or so. We’re actually really, really good at napping. We are the Michael Phelps of napping. And that’s why we vacation together so well.

And obviously the fact that my daughter religiously napped twice a day, everyday, for one to two hours each snooze made me extremely happy. Read - ECSTATIC. Not only was she down long enough for me to get my housework done, but I was also allowing myself such daily luxuries as blow-drying my hair, eating while sitting down, reading books and, yes, NAPPING. Like I said, I love to sleep.

So I know it feels like I’m totally bragging. And I guess I am, and that’s why I feel like I have to tell you guys EVERYTHING. Like sometimes, when she had already slept for over two hours in one nap, I’d get bored and WAKE HER UP. Right. I can totally hear all of you mothers of non-nappers rolling your eyes at me. But don’t worry, karma is in your court as nothing is more of a gamble than waking my daughter up out of her slumber. NOTHING.

But then a couple of days ago she refused to go down for her morning nap. And by refused, I mean howled in her crib for over 20 minutes until I finally plucked her out and watched her spitefully throw every single toy out of her toy box. And after we ate lunch I put her in her crib, and this time she laid down, slept for a couple hours, woke up and went on her merry way. One nap.

And then it happens again the next day and the day after that. And after today’s solo nap I’m convinced that this is the new law of the land. And that I’m only gonna get one time-block a day to get everything done. Which means that we’re back to having dusty baseboards, and I'm wearing a ponytail, stuffing lunch in my face and emptying out the dishwasher at the same time.

And, yes, while I’m still very fortunate to get THAT amount of time, I still have to deal with after-nap-Taylor everyday. Which is like trying to predict the Asheville weather, because she can either be totally stoked to be up, ready to eat her snack and play with Ruby, or she can make life pretty miserable under the Amys roof. But, luckily for us, today it was the previous.

Miss Rell’s birthday bash

Yesterday afternoon Taylor and I put on our party shoes and went to my good friend, LeAnn’s house to help celebrate her daughter, Rell’s second birthday. It was a nice break in the running-routine to have our girls be able to spend time together while not confined in their strollers. Not to mention that Rell got the ultimate present of all presents for her birthday - A mini-kitchen. And with two sets of adorable teeny-tiny aprons and pot holders, T was able to be a sous chef for the birthday girl.

And because I had a head’s up on the mini-kitchen, we decided to gift Rell about a million pieces of fake, plastic food. Sorry, LeAnn. I know I could have gotten her the ten-piece wooden fruit set. But the phony pizza, hot dogs and Hamburger Helper boxes were screaming my name. And I think the bogus food was a hit - Well, at least until the kiddos realized that it tasted like plastic.

Oh, and the Bound family also recently acquired a golden-doodle puppy. And it was all I could do not to put it in my mouth and take him home with me. Trust me, I tried. I had both his paws in my cheeks, but then Miss Rell and her big brother Jack intervened.

So it was a wonderful afternoon, and I was so happy that we could help celebrate Rell’s second birthday. And of course Taylor was thrilled to play with her friend’s new toys, put on a party hat and eat cupcakes.

Sweet cheeks

Taylor was born roughly 70 weeks ago. 491 days ago to be exact. And of the past 16 months, I have spent roughly ten thousand hours smooching my daughter's cheeks. I can’t lie. There are days when Chris will get home from work and ask what we did that day, and I’ll just say, I kissed her face. A lot.

And the other day when we were checking out at the grocery store, the attendant came over and started remarking about Taylor’s cheeks and how squeezable they are. And I was all, You have NO IDEA. I’ve almost eaten these cheeks away to nubbins. You should have seen them a year ago.

Hot stuff

Instead of going to the YMCA yesterday, Taylor and I opted for a run with Paige and Elliot around the Grove Park neighborhood. We’ve actually been running a lot with the girls, as Paige, LeAnn and I are in training for a race that’s coming up in about a month. No, we’re not tackling the Asheville half-marathon, we’re going to run it’s little sister, the Asheville 5k. And since we’ve been training while pushing our respective 25-pound loads - read, babies - up the hills, we know that when we’re stroller-less we’re going to be fast as lightening. Not to mention we won’t be dealing with dropped sippy cups and mid-course tantrums. So watch out, other runners! You are going to be eating some serious Stroller Club dust.

Unfortunately we were a mom down yesterday, so just Taylor and Elliot had themselves to look at while Paige and I huffed it through our course. And because three miles can be a long time for a toddler, we usually pack an extra few pounds of toys in our joggers for the girls to play with. And yesterday I packed T’s little butterfly purse that held her mini-phone and keys, plus a maraca and a book. Hey, you never know when you might want to read AND shake a maraca at the same time.

So Taylor has her purse emptied before we leave our cars, and she starts showing off all the belongings to Elliot as if they taste like ice cream and are made of gold. Which is how our girls like to harass each other. Even when Paige and I give each of them the EXACT SAME TOY, they want the treasure that the other one has. And yesterday, on mile-two, Taylor starts waving her red, plastic cell phone in Elliot’s direction, being all, Oh, THIS toy? You wanna play with THIS toy? Sorry, friend. If it was any other toy but this one, I would share it with you. BUT THIS IS THE MOST WONDERFUL THING IN THE WHOLE WORLD. So you’ll just have to watch in anger as I dial away on this fake phone.

To which, of course, caused Elliot to freak out, and resulted in Paige giving her daughter her IPhone to play with for the rest of the run. And even as Taylor’s mother, I got the smug satisfaction of watching Elliot wave the real, live phone at Taylor, like, See THIS. Oh, I would share it with you. BUT IT’S MINE! NOT. YOURS. Go ahead and play with your plastic toy, I’m gonna text a few of my peeps. Or maybe listen to some music. Or maybe I’ll play a game or two. Or maybe I’ll just hold it up high so YOU can look at it and squeal.

So we get done and are loading the girls and strollers in our cars, when I realize that somewhere during the run Taylor dropped her purse. The keys, maraca, book, and red, plastic not-an-IPhone were in the stroller, but NOT HER PURSE. And after driving around the course twice without seeing her purse, she fell asleep in her carseat and we went home. It was gone. Because apparently a mini-purse made out of denim and sequins is a hot commodity in a neighborhood where the lowest priced house is around a half million bucks.

And after she napped and I showered, I went through my closet and found a replacement purse for my girl. An old, blue leather purse that would hold twice as many treasures, but still small enough that it wouldn’t swallow her whole. And let me just say I had a moment while looking through all of my old bags. My beautiful, tiny purses and handbags that used to carry the only things I needed in public - wallet, keys, sunglasses, chapstick and a cell phone. Now I can’t leave the house with less than 15 pounds of snacks, toys, clothes and diapers. Not to mention the 25 pound toddler. No wonder my back is getting so strong.

And, man oh man, did Taylor think she was hot stuff with the new purse. First we filled it with new toys and books, and then she walked around the house with it for the rest of the afternoon, holding it in the crook of her elbow or swinging it from side to side. And she was absolutely ADORABLE. Not to mention it matched her outfit better than the butterfly purse.

But then her new accessory released an inner diva inside of my little princess. She just kept stomping and twirling and showing off. And as I was in the kitchen getting ready for dinner, and Chris was outside grilling, our little hot shot decided to go big or go home, took a break from her cartoons and climbed up on the couch ALL BY HERSELF.

Ah, my little climbing diva. Makes a Momma proud.

16 months old

Today is Taylor’s 16-month birthday, which in itself is pretty cool, but not as significant as if she was turning 16 YEARS old today. Which, other than letting her ride a roller coaster by herself and moving her into her college dorm, her driving a car without us will be the scariest thing ever. And before I always looked at the whole growing up process from the kid’s point of view, meaning it was justified, liberating and, pretty much, just awesome. But now, thinking of Taylor reaching these far away milestones keeps Chris and I awake with the FEAR at night. You mean, one day she’s going to go to school all day? Or, she’s not going to want to hang out with us nonstop? And, Chris’s future heart attack, there’s a boy on the phone for our daughter? Deep breath, babe. We still have, say, 25 years or so before we’ll let her talk to boys.

And I don’t know if it’s the fact that several of our friends have their first-borns starting kindergarten this year, but all the sudden I look down at my baby girl and realize that she’s a full-blown toddler. And that we only get a few more years before we’re buying her a book bag and pencils and sending her off to school. So right now I need to spend as much time as possible kissing her cheeks, squeezing her belly and holding, holding, holding her. And while during the first few months of her life, the shock of being totally chained to and responsible for this one little person was a bit jarring, the thought of NOT having her with me all the time sends pains through my chest. I just love her that much.

So she’s now this little 16-month old person. NOT A BABY. Even my baby doesn’t recognize that she’s a baby, because every time we say, Taylor, who’s Momma? She’ll run over to me. And then we’ll say, Taylor, who’s Daddy? And she’ll run over to Chris. She’ll even shout a ferocious, RUUUUBE, when she sees Ruby. But ask her, Taylor, who’s the baby? And she’ll run to her toy box and grab the first baby doll she can find.

Her talking to us has been the most significant change this past month. She’s averaging one new word a day, and whether or not anyone else other than Chris and I can understand her, or that Bubble and Bottle sound the same, she’s turning into a bit of a jabber-jaws. She’s got the B-words down - Baby, Belly, Bye-Bye, Bubble, Bottle, Banana, which she just calls Nana, and Ball. She L-O-V-E-S to give Ruby her tennis ball. The other day T just stood over Rubes while she was trying to sleep for a good ten minutes, holding out the ball, going, Ball? Ball? Ball? Ball? BALL?

Two other words she knows are Elmo and Big Bird. It’s amazing how much my daughter LOVES Sesame Street. Almost as much as her Momma loves bacon. She can only hear the first few notes of the theme song, and if she’s somewhere away from the television, she sprints to it, throws her head back and lets out a scream that sounds like, AH! This is the BEST SHOW EVER! She dances with the music, and points and laughs at Elmo. Which, to me, is a major disappointment because Elmo is about as annoying a puppet as you can get. Where’s Kermit? Where’s Miss Piggy? Give me a puppet with some character! Her other favorite show is Yo Gabba Gabba, which for you non-parents out there is a trippy, children’s show on Noggin that showcases a jumpsuit-wearing DJ, several humans dancing around in mascot-like costumes and lots of catchy tunes such as, Don’t Bite Your Friends and I Like Bugs. SERIOUSLY? Where’s the Rainbow Connection, and Gonzo and Fonzie? I have to watch this stuff too, you know.

And other than her expanding vocabulary and obsession with puppets on the tube, month 15 was filled with lots of new and exciting foods for Taylor to eat. And I know that right now many of you are groaning, rolling your eyes and saying, Wow, Brooke. ANOTHER post about all the food you feed your daughter. Do you guys do anything else other than watch her eat her food? Well, yes. We also watch her roll around in them.

AND melt them all over her face.

AND eat them like a ninja.

Now all we need is a teeny-tiny pink hardhat

When Taylor was a few months old, I signed up for a free monthly magazine called Baby Talk. It’s easy to read, has lots of pictures of babies almost as cute as mine and it offers enough useful advice that I usually read it before recycling it. And even though Taylor doesn’t exactly qualify as a baby anymore, it usually has a few tidbits and guidelines for raising kids 12-18 months old. And, of course, it has the dreaded developmental chart that I always hold my breath while reading. Because, Hey, Guess what, Baby Talk? I’m new at this and sometimes have ABSOLUTELY NO CLUE WHAT I’M DOING. So if she listens to Phish instead of Mozart in the car, I don’t think I’m doing any permanent damage. And if I pacify her with Cheese Its and Noggin once in while, it’s for everyone’s own good.

So in this last month’s issue, one of the developmental tips talked about having your toddler try stacking objects, like blocks, and having them use both hands to build. And because Miss Taylor can be a bit, shall we say, CRAFTY at times, I thought this would be a good exercise for us to play with her. And also, of course, because Santa brought her a set of big blocks for Christmas, and after Chris put all 250 of them together, she lost all interest in them and they had been collecting dust in the corner.

She got the hang of stacking the blocks pretty fast, but by the time I grabbed my camera, she had already caught a case of the wiggles and was ready to move to her next toy. But this is what I got:

So I know what you’re thinking - She’s gonna be an architect. Or, most likely, in demolition. Which is probably a direct result of her listening to Phish instead of Mozart in the car.

Blogger reunion - part deux

Chris’s new job requires him to take three separate trips to St Louis for training, with each trip lasting a week. Which at first made me extremely weepy and bummed out. Yes, I am getting a lot more time with my man now that he’s a nive-to-fiver, but a whole week? That’s a long time to go without seeing his handsome face. Not to mention I’d be a single mom to a teething toddler and a hyperactive dog. So instead of having to run around like a chicken with my head cut off for a week, we decided that his trip away would be a perfect time for Taylor and I to fly to my parent’s farm in Iowa for a week.

Yes. You read that right. FLY. And for those of you that remember the flight from Hell that we took with our daughter last summer, you can understand why I’m breaking out in a cold sweat just thinking about it. And not only was Taylor such a nightmare on that last flight, but at least I had Chris with me to lend his arm as I clawed it for the two-plus hours she howled when we were in the air. So not only am I flying with a non-flying demon baby, but I’m doing it ALONE. Which is why every time I think about it, I stop, slap both my hands on my face and let out a Home Alone scream at the top of my lungs.

And whenever I voice my anxiety to my Mom, she just laughs and recounts the time she flew single with her three kids, Will being an infant, and had to RUN through the Atlanta airport to catch our flight. There’s also an interesting story attached to that trip that takes place with all four of us in the bathroom, Mom and Will in the stall, Libba and I standing outside, and Libba screaming at the top of her lungs, Momma! This is woman is SO BLACK! And my Mom’s heart stopped. And then it was revived when she realized that she still had both daughters standing outside the stall. And that’s why we had to run through the airport.

So, other than the absolute fear of flying with Taylor, I am SO EXCITED for this trip home. We are flying into the Midwest on Friday, August 28th, and staying until the following Saturday, September 5th. Not only is it a treat to see my family and sleep under my old roof, but I haven’t been back to Iowa in a non-winter season since we moved to Asheville six years ago. I can’t wait to show Taylor around the farm. Plus Libba’s flying back for her ten-year reunion, and our trips will overlap for a few days. And because I had so much fun visiting with some of our GHHS Bloggers over Thanksgiving, I’m hoping we can put together some sort of kid-friendly, margaritas-included get together with anyone who will be around. We’ve got a lot to catch-up on, like meeting baby Luke, rubbing a few pregnant bellies, Mo graduating Law School and marveling over Libba’s bling-bling engagement ring.

Alright - So, who’s gonna be around?